


And On That Day, It Was Raining

by Scrawlers



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drama, M/M, Tragedy, but this fic is about the aftermath of said major character death, so I felt it prudent to give the warning, the major character death happened before the events of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 12:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: The war has been won and celebrations are being had, and Keith is mourning the one person he knows he is not allowed to.





	And On That Day, It Was Raining

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic back in December and posted it on my tumblr then. It was a spur of the moment thing, written while listening to the song [Life With Masks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cFKTS5ByXY4)" from the Mystic Messenger OST (don't judge, that OST is amazing), but although I wrote it off the cuff back then, I still like it now, and thus thought I'd upload it here. (Plus, I mean, I have a lot of fics on tumblr that I haven't gotten around to uploading here, so I should probably fix that.)

Years later, when the war is won, a celebration is held to honor the Paladins of Voltron. Keith attends, because he has to; as the Black Paladin, it would be too conspicuous for him  _not_ to be there. But as he stands with the others, tumultuous applause thundering for miles and maybe even light years around, he can’t bring himself to smile. He can’t bring himself to even look out at the crowd. They won the war, but lost so many lives, one of which Keith knows he is not allowed to mourn.

But his mood does not escape notice. Most gathered there are happy to see them, are too dazed by the euphoria of victory that they can see little else. But one, an arusian standing near the front, cries out, “Hey, why’s the Black Paladin look so depressed?”

Keith thinks, for a fleeting second, of answering. Before he can, Lance does it for him. “Oh, he always looks like that, don’t mind him. Want another autograph?”

The arusian is distracted easily enough. She happily accepts Lance’s offer, and many others crowd around him, showering him in adulations and praise. Keith thinks, again fleetingly, of saying something. Of . . . defending himself, maybe, from the assertion that he “always looks” depressed. But the thought is gone in the next second. He doesn’t have the energy to counter it. Maybe it’s true, anyway. He rarely looks in mirrors, so he wouldn’t know.

The celebration moves on to a more general party. The Paladins are no longer required to stand gathered in a group, so Keith—using the festivities as a distraction—excuses himself. He doesn’t go far; he sits down just outside, staring out at the distant horizon. He wonders when he can leave. He wonders then where he would go. He can think of one person he wants to see—wants to talk to, spend time with—but he knows that’s the one person he’ll never see, or talk to, or spend time with ever again.

He hugs his knees to his chest and rests his forehead upon them. He just wants to go . . . somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere where he can forget who he is, and what he has done, at least for a little while.

“Keith?”

Keith starts, and looks up. He hadn’t heard Allura approach, but she walks out to sit down beside him now. He clears his throat, and looks out at the horizon again. The sun is setting.

“Princess, hey,” he says. He’s thankful he can sound mostly casual. “Sorry, I just . . . needed some air. These events aren’t really my thing.”

“I know. I’m grateful you agreed to attend,” Allura says. He can hear a smile in her voice. That’s . . . something, at least. “You don’t have to attend the others, if you don’t want to. We’ll find an excuse to free you from the obligation.”

Keith feels his lips twitch, though he doesn’t feel like laughing. “Was my mood that much of a downer?”

“No, not at all,” Allura says, too swiftly to be believable. “But after everything you’ve done for us—for  _all_ of us—I think you can be forgiven for sitting out a few parties and celebrations, if . . . if that would make you more comfortable.”

Keith says nothing. He swallows, and keeps his eyes on the horizon. The sky looks like it’s on fire.

“Keith,” Allura says after a moment, and her voice hitches as if she’s regretting her desire to speak, before she pushes ahead anyway. “Are you . . . all right?”

It’s a loaded question, or at least, it feels like one. Or maybe it’s not a loaded question, but Keith’s response is a loaded answer. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows again, breathing in deeply through his nose before he replies.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m great. We won the war, Lotor’s . . .”  _Dead, gone, never coming back._ “Everything’s great.” His voice is as hollow as the rest of him feels.

Allura is silent for a moment, and her voice is quiet when she finally says, “It’s . . . it’s all right to not be all right, Keith. You don’t need to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are. I’ve known you for enough decaphoebs now to be able to tell.” She pauses again, choosing her words carefully ( _ever the diplomat_ ) before she tries, “I know . . . things did not end as ideally as they could have. We lost many lives over the course of the war, and Prince Lotor . . .” She falls silent, and when she picks back up, her voice is at its softest. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

Keith feels a pin, long and impossibly sharp, stab through his chest. It drives up, tearing through him until the pain of it stings behind his eyes. He clenches his fingers into tight fists in an effort to drive it back.

“He was our enemy,” he says.

“I know, but that is not what I asked.”

He can’t look at the horizon anymore. Instead, Keith glares at his knees. The stinging behind his eyes is more vicious now; he doesn’t know whether it’s riskier to blink, or to keep his eyes resolutely open. He can’t tell which action would betray him more.

“I just,” he says, then stops as his voice cracks, as his breath shakes in his lungs. He shoves past it, forces himself to continue, because he can—he can at least say this much. “Let myself hope things could be different.”  _It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. It was all my fault._

Allura says nothing, and he doesn’t expect her to. If he could feel anything at all now, it would be surprise that she isn’t angry with him, that she isn’t disgusted and betrayed by the feelings he won’t allow himself to admit to her. But he can’t; he can feel nothing but the burning in his eyes, and the urge to get up and  _run_ , to leave before he falls to pieces before her. But the urge to flee is tempered, smothered— _tethered_ by the hand she places on his back. Keith buries his face in his arms as Allura rubs slow, gentle, comforting circles between his shoulders, and lets his useless tears fall as he mourns the one person he knows most would agree he isn’t allowed to.


End file.
